


A match of Convenience

by Project0506



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Anthropomorphic, M/M, cat Natasha, cat Pepper, dog Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:46:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1256758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems like Natalia has to do everything herself.  She doesn't hold it against Clint and Coulson though.  They're only human, after all.</p>
<p>Or</p>
<p>Natasha-the-cat makes decides to play matchmaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Natalia has, in her many years of life, become something of an expert at blending in.  She’d had to.  It was either that or a quick death and a shallow gutter.  Her hair is a brilliant, fiery red against the drab greys and browns of New York City but even so, you do not see her unless she wills it.

And right now she doesn’t will it.  She has places to be, and no time to waste.  She slinks down an alley, light feet leaving no trace and making no noise.  She slides through the world as if not a part of it; a dog rooting through the garbage behind a high end Manhattan cafe doesn’t even raise its head as she passes.  Another side street, then a third and a fourth before she reaches her destination.  She leaps upward with seemingly little effort, landing lightly on the fire escape and climbing up to the fourth floor.  A quick tap on the window and a few moments wait has it opening, a familiar, welcome face greeting her.  It is only their long years of acquaintance that allows her to recognize the crinkling in the corners of his eyes as a smile.

“Agent Romanova,” Coulson greets as she slips by him.  He leaves the window open, having learned long ago not to make her feel like her exits are cut off.

Natalia meows once in acknowledgement and makes a beeline for the kitchen, where a bowl of shredded chicken and rice steam welcomingly on the floor.

* * *

 

Natalia is not Phillip J Coulson’s cat.  Natalia is no one’s cat, and she’d be quick to remind you if you dared forget.  If anything Phillip J Coulson was simply one of Natalia’s humans, though perhaps one of her favorites.

Coulson cooks for her, simple but delicious meals of chicken or turkey or beef with rice and vegetables.  Hardy, filling stuff that is not that goop from a can.  He had tried that with her once, and only once.  Natalia does not keep stupid people.

In return Natalia allows herself to be petted, allows him to read to her on occasion, and makes herself scarce when Coulson’s landlord come sniffing around for signs of prohibited pets.

Tonight Coulson’s in a far better mood than she expected given their last, perhaps less than pleasant encounter.  The glass aquarium in the corner is gone, as well as the lamp that used to sit above it and all the connections needed to keep it humming and thrumming and making a general nuisance of itself.  Good.  The glass was unsightly and now Coulson would probably be saving quite a bit on his electric bill. 

He sees her gaze, and the crinkles in the corners of his eyes deepen.  “All gone,” he assures her, and she is satisfied.  She congratulates herself on the remodeling and finishes her supper.  

She stays longer than usual tonight.  Past dinner, past terrible shows with the absolute dregs of humanity and deep into the terrible shows with the far more useless dregs of humanity demonstrating why this or that gadget will make you less useless.  (There is no hope for them and no gadget miraculous enough to make them useful, in Natalia’s opinion, but she is a cat and they are likely far too stupid to understand her.)  She stays until Coulson is softly snoring on the couch, and ad for a self-cleaning litterbox that Natalia knows does not actually work playing in the background.  At the window she pauses and casts a somewhat fond look back.  She would stay, really.  Coulson, for all he doesn’t say it, is more than a little lonely now that his fish-loving, cello-playing harpy-of-an-ex is finally out of the picture.  (Her fish were delicious.  And while the turtle was tasty, it was far too much work.  The sacrifices Natalia has to make to ensure her humans don’t mope forever, she thinks she deserves a bit more gratitude than she gets.)  Natalia would love to stay and keep him company.  But it’s almost midnight, and that means that second dinner is about to be served across town and she would just hate to miss that.

* * *

 

Second dinner is far less healthy than first, but unmistakably delicious as well.  Clint always makes up his face at her quarter of the pizza, dotted with mushrooms and anchovies and sausage and peppers, and bitches mightily at the smell of it.  Natalia has learned to ignore him.  He can bitch all he wants as long as he keeps ordering her quarter.  She doesn’t particularly like those toppings.  Oh she doesn’t mind them, but she has no particular fondness for them.  They are, however, a tested and proven combination which makes Bucky-the-pizza-dog avoid her share of pizza as though it were about to gut him.  Natalia prefers it that way.  If Bucky wants pizza, he can eat some of Clint’s share.  This way they all keep the peace.

Natalia stays curled up on Clint’s chest for a few hours, tolerating more television shows with stupid people, but also this time with stupid dogs and Bucky’s commentary throughout the whole thing.  She sniffs as both Bucky and Clint giggle, _yes_ giggle, at some moron on the screen.  She sighs.  _Men_. 

Around three thirty she rouses herself, stretches and extends her claws.  Clint grumbles and bitches some more about getting her nails trimmed, but again, Natalia doesn’t keep stupid humans so she’s aware he will do no such thing.  She hops down from the couch and, with a chorus of woofs and ‘bye Tasha’, slithers down the fire escape.

She’ll get back to Coulson’s just in time for her to catch him before his morning run and net herself some of his coffee.  Then she’ll get a good nap in before he returns to fix her her customary egg white and spinach breakfast.  Perhaps today she’ll even have bacon.

* * *

 

She’s pulling herself into Coulson’s house an hour later, wet and disgruntled at the sudden early morning downpour.  This is the last, absolutely final straw.  She is _done_ with running across town every time she wants a meal. 

Coulson and Clint may not know it yet, in fact they may not know _each other_ yet, but they are going to cohabitate if Natalia has to _drag their screaming asses together herself!_


	2. Chapter 2

There is one undeniable, universal truth of humans, and it is this: If they can mess something up, they will.  Natalia has long since given over to despair, gone past it in fact, at a human’s innate ability to accurately suss out the intricacies of a plan, then proceed to trample all over it like some sort of bipedal bovine.  And the more complicated the plan, the more terribly they mangle it, to the point where it’s almost accepted that delicacy is entirely wasted on the whole species.

Natalia’s humans are a cut above the rabble, naturally, but even they can’t help their genetic disposition.  Which is why Natalia sticks to simple.  Simple, direct, easy enough that even they couldn’t possibly mess it up.

Natalia freezes, and curses herself for the thought.  Even considering things like that is asking for trouble.  Bucky whines a bit at her sudden stillness and nudges her.

Her plan, while gorgeous in its simplicity, did require the services of a specialist, which is where Bucky comes in.  He is willing enough to go along with her scheme as long a she keeps him fairly regularly plied with treats.  His paws aren’t as agile as hers, even when he had all four of them, and she passes the afternoon opening the occasional cupboard and tipping the contents out to the floor for Bucky to evaluate and, more often than not, devour.

With the sole exception of the bag of kale chips.  Bucky will try to eat his own vomit sometimes, but he would never touch those.

Natalia ensures that each cupboard is closed once she is finished.  She _does_ have manners, after all; it’s not like she’s some kind of animal.  So there really isn’t much of a mess when evening rolls around and Coulson finally steps into his apartment.

* * *

 

It is an uncomfortable couple of minutes that pass while Coulson stares at Bucky.  Natalia had tried her best to make the mutt look friendly and less like some sort of maniac who wandered in from the street.  But Bucky is about six weeks overdue for a trim, makes himself scarce whenever the topic is brought up, and is convinced that his lengthy fur makes him look dashing and mysterious.  Even Natalia can’t work miracles in an afternoon. 

(It doesn’t, by the way.  It makes him look a bit like a raccoon.  A rabid, dirty, trash-dwelling raccoon.  With mange.  Natalia keeps that opinion to herself.  A man’s pride is a terribly fragile thing.)

Coulson circles slowly, keeping his eye on Bucky at all times.  After a few more moments, Bucky remembers to wag his tail and give a big doggy grin, oozing as much ‘I’m friendly’ vibe a can be squeezed out of his hide.  Coulson is far from disarmed.

Typically, Natalia would be proud of her human for his caution.  When she had first stumbled on to him so long ago she learned that he was a terrible hunter and would let just anyone lift their leg against the wall of his building.  She’s somewhat pleased that she’s managed to toughen him up, but annoyed that the lesson would finally stick at the most inconvenient moment. 

Once again, Natalia must directly intervene.  She executes a perfect vault from the top of the refrigerator, landing lightly next to Bucky and startling Coulson from his intense stare-off.  With a mental note deducting points for a lack of situational awareness, Natalia rumbles her loudest purr, gives her widest-eyed come-hither look and slides herself sinuously all the way down Bucky’s side, being sure to give the engraved tags dangling from his collar a flick with her tail to make them jingle noticeably.

(She will need to bathe _so badly_ when this is over.  For the food, she reminds herself repeatedly.  She does this for the food.)

* * *

 

There is no cat alive as unhappy as Natalia when Clint stays only as long as necessary to snap a leash to Bucky’s collar, apologize profusely and haul the mutt out of Coulson’s apartment.  Coulson had been curt over the phone, snapping in a way that leaves Natalia with no doubt whatsoever as to the reason he doesn’t have a litter of his own yet.  He had glared as he read the number off Bucky’s tags, glared through the whole phone call and the whole time he waits.  And, surprise of all surprises, he keeps glaring the whole six minutes Clint is the apartment.

Once Clint and Bucky are gone, she levels him with her own most baleful glare and storms out, head and tail high in indignation. 

She brought him a _mate_ , for crying out loud.  An attractive one in the nearly-hairless way humans have, and literally delivered him into Coulson’s living room. She could _smell_ his arousal from her seat on the windowsill while Clint was in sight.  

Natalia gives this entire species three generations before it dies out if this is the sort of thing they get up to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long delay: Life decided all at once that I needed to be responsible or some such. But I'm back now and I've plotted this to the end, so look for more regular updates!
> 
> ~Bella

On Wednesday morning, Coulson doesn’t come home. 

The morning routine started the same: a pre-dawn wake up, a leisurely shared cup of coffee for man and cat before an early morning run.  Natalia had only the night before decided to forgive Coulson for his unfortunate genetic defects which include terminal stupidity.

(She had been angry for days.  The sheer malice of a cat-held grudge can never be understated, and Natalia had been determined to make sure everyone knew it.  She ate her meals with the quiet disdain of barely-there tolerance, and for days refused to hang around after meals to allow either Coulson or Clint to pet her.  She sulked about either apartment for hours, slinking neatly out of the way of outreached hands and huffing at the bemused faces she got each time.  Let them wallow, she thought, until they feel repentant for what they’ve done.  Naturally, they showed no remorse.  It is Pepper’s pet theory that humans don’t understand the concept of shame, and even when they seem penitent are only really reacting to the tone of your voice.  Natalia is inclined to agree.)

But first dinner Tuesday night had been grilled salmon and mushrooms, served on a plate held stubbornly in Coulson’s lap until Natalia had relented and presented herself for petting.  And second dinner had been Cheerios in tuna juice, served with the kind of faux-casual air that said that Clint was actually very worried whether or not she’d accept it.  So when Clint had glanced over and asked ‘We cool?’ she allowed a little purr of assent to make his face light up.

Bridges mended, she presented herself for her morning coffee on Wednesday and curled up to nap until breakfast.

She is woken by bright sunshine, a growling stomach and no Coulson.

She waits until the sun is directly overhead before she is willing to wait no longer.  It’s time to eat, and if she’s not eating here, she’ll have to find somewhere else.  Coulson is unmistakably a man of routine, but he’s an adult and can take care of himself.  Natalia doesn’t worry overmuch about it.

The apartment is dark empty when it’s time for first dinner.

Her nose tells her no one is there, but she does a circuit, meowing inquisitively in each room just in case.  Coulson does not materialize.  She waits for hours, claiming a spot by the door with her tail tucked over her front paws.  She doesn’t leave for second dinner Wednesday night and she is starving by sunrise on Thursday.  Coulson isn’t there for breakfast.

* * *

 

He isn’t there for lunch.

Natalia doesn’t leave. 

* * *

 

She wakes again to the smell of old blood and new chemicals.

It is late, nearly first dinner time and there is a vicious argument being hissed outside Coulson’ front door.  It goes on for nearly a minute and a half before anyone on that side decides it would probably be better to have the argument inside.  She recognizes both voices and is standing at attention when keys rattle in the lock and the door creaks open.  She’s not relieved when Coulson steps through, because that would mean that she had any doubt he would be coming back to her.  No, she winds herself around and through his legs simply because she is famished.

Not because he is swaying and held upright by Fury’s arm around his waist.  Not because his face is wax-white and his eyes plum-bruised.  Not because his arm is bound tightly to his chest in white strips of cloth that smell like the same chemicals they use to clean the cages at the city pound.  Not because Fury gets that pinched, worried expression every time he looks at Coulson.

Not at all.

“I have to feed my cat,” Coulson says stiffly, and slaps Fury’s hand away. 

Natalia forgives his presumption of ownership immediately.

* * *

 

Natalia likes Fury.

He’s aloof and no-nonsense, willing to call Coulson on his bullshit at any given time.  He also really, really likes cats.  He is, however, one of those alpha types who maintains authority by refusing to show favoritism.  Natalia understands this, and lets him know whenever she can that she isn’t offended.  She’s also determined to get him to acknowledge this softer side of himself, which is why she continuously curls around him and licks his hand and sits on him every time he comes over, regardless of how loudly he tries to object or how much he tries to push her away. 

They have an understanding, of sorts.

“Fuckin’ cat,” Fury says, and Natalia knows it’s his version of an endearment.  She responds by circling his ankle and sitting on his foot.

* * *

 

It takes an hour of careful manipulation to drag the whole story out of them, of how Coulson interfered with some other human’s fight and got clawed (or however it is that humans fight, given their lack of useful biological weaponry).  She finds out from overly complicated human speech that Coulson is hurt badly, needs to keep his arm still, needs to do nothing more than extremely light work, and needs someone to protect him while he heals.

Natalia agrees wholeheartedly.  She does not, however, agree with the notion that the ‘someone’ in question needs to be Fury.  She does just fine looking out for him on her own.

Eventually even Fury bows to Coulson’s quiet bullheadedness and allows himself to be shoved out the door.  “Fuckin’ _cat_ ,” he yells as he forgets where she is when he places his feet and nearly loses his balance.  Natalia understands that he means ‘take care of Coulson’ and meows an affirmative. 

She really likes Fury.  He’s her favorite of Coulson’s people.


	4. Chapter 4

"Throwback Fitness."

-Mreow?-

"Throwback to what indeed.  'Crunch' Gym."

-Quiet scoff and mocking tail flip-

"Me either.  Equinox Fitness Center?"

-Sneeze-

"We'll call that a maybe.  Black Belt at Booker's Gym."

-Hiss-

"Preaching to the choir dear.  He does have that unpleasant look doesn't he?"

Coulson and Natalia glance at the screen, then both, instinctively, tip their heads to the side in some subconscious effort to make the man pictured there, arms folded across his chest and scowl directed just off center of the image, look less like he might have once been nicknamed 'Bubba'.  It isn't very effective.  Natalia lays a gentle paw on Coulson's arm and he takes the hint to close the page.  They've gone through a massive list of pictures, Coulson reading the titles to her and waiting for her opinion.  He needs one, he had explained, because somehow even though his arm is healing it won't heal right until he goes to one of these places and speaks to a proper person.  Natalia isn't clear on the details, but she is sure that Coulson must only have the highest quality person making his arm usable again.

And that means no Bubbas.

"24 Hour Fitness?"

-Meeeeeh-

"If you say so."  Coulson flips through a few more and Natalia takes the break to stretch languidly, pressing her paws out in all directions and knocking one against the glowing screen.  Coulson carefully picks her paw up and folds it back across her belly.  She flips it right back out but doesn't stretch any further than the little clacky buttons.  Coulson accepts the compromise.

"Hawkeye Studio?  That looks like it's for archery though."  Bright red ears perk up at the familiar word and with a wriggle, Natalia flips herself onto her feet to get a better look.  The picture on the screen shows an extremely familiar logo and an even more familiar front door, and Natalia chirps in excitement.  “This one?”  Coulson’s voice is the perfect description of dubious and Natalia raises her head to level him with the bland look she always does whenever he questions her judgment.  “But it’s…” he flips through more of the pictures provided, that tiny crease of doubt still sitting above his nose.  “Kind of a dump.”

Natalia, not for the first time, wishes that cats’ scoffs were a little more intimidating.  She plants one delicate paw on his chest (the right side, always the right side. The left will always, always mean hungry, sleepless nights and the smell of blood.)  Her free paw she taps against his cheek gently, staring deep into his eyes as if she can get her words across to him telepathically.

Don’t be a hypocrite, the message would say.  You live in a shit hole.

He does that thing where he smiles with half his mouth and Natalia knows he understands.  “I’ll trust your judgment on this this Agent.”  And that’s all she needs to hear.

* * *

 

“Holy shit you found my cat!”

There is a beat of silence where Natalia contemplates savaging Clint’s ankles because _no_ , she is _no one’s_ cat.

Then comes: “Holy shit you’re that guy!”

Natalia had made sure to eel out of the car first nearly the moment Coulson had stopped moving.  A quick rendezvous with Pepper and the ferrets had ensured that Tony would be well out of the way.  Nothing could screw up Clint and Coulson’s second chance at a first meeting.

Except apparently Clint.

Coulson is wearing his most unimpressed look, one that Natalia takes _all_ the credit for, while Clint is shuffling like a naughty schoolboy and apologizing _again_ for Bucky.  This was new lows of pathetic. 

(Two things: 1) There is just no apologizing for Bucky. 2) Why would you _bring that up again_ when Coulson had probably already forgotten?  Clint!  Dumbass.  She wishes he was sitting so she could smack him in the head.)

Natalia winds her way through both men’s ankles in succession and leaves them to be awkward at one another.  If she has to stomach any more of this she’ll hark up a hairball in protest.

Later, with her teeth on the scruff of one of the ferrets (she’s pretty sure this one is Dummy) she spots them across the room, going through a series of stretches with Clint’s hands carefully extending Coulson’s left arm.  Must be a mating dance.  Natalia congratulates herself on a job well done and returns to harassing the ferrets.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~Bonus Interlude because I love you all~ (Credit to Not-You for giving me certain ideas!)

Tony is Pepper’s.

There is nobody at all with any hint of sense that would dispute that.  Pepper’s the one who found him and, though it was an odd thought to have for a man-child currently expelling the contents of his stomach, decided then and there that that one was hers.

It was fortuitous that he had had a place of his own.  Honestly Pepper hadn’t even been _thinking_ of where she’d keep him when she decided to adopt.  She had introduced herself there on the side of that street, and primly hopped into the long black car while Happy (and oh, Pepper _loves_ Happy) had wrestled Tony into the back seat.  That night she had set paws in Tony’s swanky apartment, glanced around and decided it would have to do.

 

* * *

 

_There was once a conversation that went like this:_

_“Oi.  Where do you keep your cat food?”_

_Tony pauses, and slowly pushes the welding mask up on his forehead.  “The same place I’d keep my cat.  If I had one.”_

_Rhodey eyes him like he’s a nutcase.  It’s a terribly familiar look._

_“You have a cat, Tony.  You’ve had a cat for a week and a half.”_

_The words are met with blank incomprehension.  “What?  No really, what?  Did you hit your head Crumb Cake?”_

_Pepper hops up onto the table, neatly steals the salami from the sandwich which had slowly assumed room temperature over the course of two hours, and retreats under the table to enjoy her dinner.  Tony slowly gets to one knee and peers down at her.  “Well… how bout that?”_

 

* * *

 

The ferrets are Pepper’s too.

Dummy had initially objected to her.  He, somehow, had considered himself Tony’s owner prior to Pepper assuming that role.  It would have been adorable if he hadn’t tried to be a little shit about it.

Listen please, Pepper meows politely, paws resting on the lip of the garbage can.  Down inside, mixed in with the fruit peels from Tony’s breakfast smoothie and viciously protesting being thrown in, Dummy writhed and raved until he wore himself out.  It was only then that Pepper explained the new rules of the house.  Pepper is in charge.  What Pepper says goes.  If you have a problem with it you can either shut up or Pepper will put you in the trash until you do.  Dummy acquiesced with bad grace, completely as Pepper had expected.  It was almost dinner time and nothing stood between Dummy and his dinner pellets.  Not even his own, mistaken, beliefs.

You and Butterfingers were _much_ easier.  By the time Tony brought them home Pepper had had ample time to establish her authority.  The slotted in nicely behind Dummy in the pecking order, and Pepper’s little pack was basically complete.

 

* * *

 

_Tony clicker trained his ferrets.  Naturally Pepper learned to roll her tongue just right in order to click._

_“That,” Clint says, as Pepper clicks sharply and all three ferrets fall in line behind her like a trail of ducklings, “is the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.”_

_“Hrmf?” Tony looks up from the ferret/cat run he is busy installing around the upper corners of the gym, a trio of nails held between his lips.  Pepper picks each of the ferrets up by their necks one at a time and lowers them over the pet barrier that only stumps Bucky and not a soul else._

_Clint takes a swig of his beer.  “Nothin’.  Forget it.”_

* * *

 

Clint is not Pepper’s. 

Tony met Clint two weeks after he left for months, two weeks after he comes back with nightmares and shaking hands and a large hunk of metal in his chest.  Tony met Clint two days after Stane makes Tony come stand in his old office and gives Tony a paper which says that Tony’s company isn’t Tony’s any more.

(Stane had an iguana.  Pepper left a window open and mentioned said window to her sometimes-friend Natalia.  Stane no longer has an iguana.  Pepper finds it hard to sympathize.  Natalia assures Pepper that iguanas are delicious.)

Clint is working at a gym when they meet, and he doesn’t make Tony leave Pepper in the car, doesn’t let Tony half-ass his stretches and doesn’t pay Tony any attention when he insults his mother.  He also doesn’t murder Tony after a grueling hour and a half.

Tony and Clint buy a building and move in, and they make the first floor a gym of their own and it’s stupid and reckless and neither of them have owned a gym before and neither of them have any money left afterwards.  But Tony calls him Hawkass and Clint calls him Tin Man and when Tony falls asleep halfway through replacing the belt on a walking-machine he doesn’t wake up screaming.

Clint isn’t Pepper’s, but it’s only because he, and later his Bucky, are Natalia’s first and Pepper knows she will take care of him.  Pepper has her own paws full.

 

* * *

 

_Human, Pepper sings loudly, quite enjoying herself though her swishing tail would indicate otherwise. Huuumaaaan.  You make poor choiiiiceeees._

_Pepper pauses and smirks at the cussing that echoes from the other side of the locked bedroom door._

_Cease and desiiiiiiiiiist, she sings, hitting a note that impresses even herself.  There is a shriek and a bang and the cow comes storming out of the bedroom.  (Pepper would call her a bitch but that would insult Bucky’s mother.)_

_There is another, more distant slam of the door and the apartment is finally empty and silent.  Good._

_Pepper steps into the bedroom and Tony is hiccupping with laughter under the blankets while Pepper makes herself comfy on her pillows, quite proud of herself._

_"Tomorrow’s tabloids are gonna be fun, and it’s all your fault,” Tony informs her, scratching his chest.  He should go to a doctor; he probably caught something terrible._

_Pepper sighs deeply.  Her pillow smells of cow and ammonia.  She sleeps spread across Tony’s neck instead._


End file.
